AN INSCRIPTION. Teafe, beneath the green-wood fhade re

A clin'd

I hate the pleafures of the fmiling day: Feariels of future ill my mind;

Artlets my rural lay.

How mild the feafon! while the gentle gale Wak'd from the embraces of yon opening blooms, Waits thro' the windings of the vale

The freth-exhal'd perfumes."

Free as he flutters, waves his filken wings
To Rowery upland, or fequefter'd glade,
Now dips them in the lucid fprings,

Now ruitles in the fhade.

So ree, thy bleflings, Peace of mind! fo free, By wealth unpurchas'd, unfeduc'd by guile, Thy pleating converie, eafy glee,

And thine enchanting fmile!

Oft as I wander in the graffy dale
May I be contcious of thy prefent aid;
Or when I tune the rural tale,
Beneath the green-wood thade!

NATURE THE BEST PHYSICIAN.

Bladud's old city, furrounded by hills, the always heads,

fic oit kills,

phy

Lives a fam'd Jewith doctor (not one of the rabbies)
But a medical doctor, eiteem'd by the tabbies;
Who to be in the tathion took to him a wife,
That frit of all evils or bleifings of life:
So well were they match'd, that it rightly I ween
Like a couple of rabbits, one fat and one lean.
The law and icvitical rites, it is faid,

Erjan the femmes couvertes to have all the head.
To a beau tul Jewefs how hard is the fate!
For her long flowing ringlets to adopt a falfe tete.
But of beauty enchanting our dame could not
boal';

No glafs overflow'd with her name as a toast: Though no charms her hard features were form'd to expreis,

Yet her head was a proverb in luftre of drefs; When trizz'd to extent, with her jewels adorning Appear'd like a beth in a dew-fpangled morning. Thus dizen'd and stiffen'd the came from a ball, Where lords, rogues, and pimps, from the great to the fmall,

Charlotte.

With a fmall fquad of virgins, and many a harlot, Met to dance, play, and chatter, in honour of [their eyes The poppy-crown'd god had not long clos'd Ere the doctor's proteifion oblig'd him to rife. "Poor old Sir John Dory is at his laft breath, If your kill, my good doctor, can't bail him from death.'

In great haite and darknefs he cover'd his pate, Not with his own major, but his wife's fhining [bw

tete,

And thus fallied forth-"Oh! I fear 'tis all hol(Quoth the doctor) good nurse, for Sir John cannot fwallow," LOND. MAG. Oct. 1783.

Never liften, like Eve, to the devil Ennui.

Let no gloom of your hall, no fhade of your bower Make you think you behold this malevolent power. Like a child in the dark, what you tear you will fee;

Take courage, away flies the phantom Ennui.

Oh! truft me, the powers both of perfon and mind To defeat this fly toe full fufficient you'll find; Should your eyes fail to kill him, with keen re

partee

You can link the flat boat of th' invader Ennui,
If a cool nonchalance o'er your sposa should 1pread
For vapours will rife e'en on Jupiter's head,
O ever believe it, from jealoufy free,
A thin palling cloud, not the fog of Ennui.

Of tender complainings, though love be the theme, O beware, my fweet friends, 'is a dangerous scheme;

And tho' often 'tis try'd, mark the pauvre mari Thus by friendship enclos'd in the coop of Enni.

Let confidence, rifing fuch meannefs above, Drown the difcord of doubt in the mufic of love; Your duet thall thus charm in the natural key, No fharps from vexation, no flats from Ennui.

But to you, happy husbands, in matters more

nice

The mufe, tho' a maiden, now offers advice;
O drink not too deeply your bumper of glee,
L'en ectacy's cup has fome degree of Ennui
Τι
Though

322

Though Love to your lips fill with nectar his
bowl,
[foul,
Though his warm bath of bleffings infpirit your
Ofwim not too far on rapture's high tea,
Left you fink unawares in the gulf of Ennui.
Impatient of love, paffion oft will reply,
Againit limitations I'll plead till I die;
But Chief Justice Nature repeats the vain plea,
And fuch culprits are doom'd to the gaol of Ennui.
When husband and wife are of honey too fond,
They're like poifon'd carp at the top of a pond,
Together they gape o'er a cold dish of tea,
'Two muddy fick fish in the net of Ennui.
Of indolence moft, ye mild couples beware,
For the myrtles of love often hide her foft fnare,
The fond doves in their net from his pounce
[nui.
cannot flee,

But the lark in the morn 'fcapes the demon Ex-
Let chearful good-humour, that sunshine of life,
With miles in the maiden illumine the wife,
And mutual attention, in equal degree,
Keep Hymen's bright chain from the ruit of Ennui.
To the Graces, together, O, fail not to bend,
And both to the voice of the Mufes attend;
So Minerva for you thall with Cupid agree,

How will my ardent foul rejoice
To hear again thy heavenly voice,
And, while the founds harmonious flow,
Feel every former transport glow!
Could anxious fears thy bofom move,
And make thee doubt Caftalio's love?
Ah! know, my mind depriv'd of thee,
From torturing pain was never free.
But now, my beauteous nymph, no more
The pangs of abfence we'll deplore;
Nor e'er thall Fortune's ruthleis fway
Snatch thy devoted fwain away.

No let me rather meet my fate,
With rapture's deareft blifs elate,
And, while I clafp thee to my breast,
Without a murmur fink to rest.

EPISTLE III.

1. C.

From a Gentleman to his Lady and Daughter *.

A Sage antiquarian faid 'twere high treafon

To be abfent from home, but one night, in
bean feafon.

But how do the ladies when abfent behave?
For ladies will ramble-et elles mangent de fever.

Ennui.

THE SHEPHERD'S RETURN.
T length, Caftalio, gentle fwain,

A The glory of the rural train,

Appears, in all the bloom of youth,
To recompente Euphrafia's truth.

With panting heart, and trembling pace,
I fly to meet the warm embrace;
And in the circle of his armə,
No doubt torments, no fear alarms.

Of every dearest wish poffeft,

What unfelt raptures fwell my breaft:
My long-loft love again to view,
In honour and affection true.
And while our flocks together feed,
Or revel on the Rowery mead,
Beneath the woodbine we'll repofe,
And pallion's mutual flame difciste.
Yet fay, thy tender maid no more
he woes of abience thall deplore,
Nor heave a figh, nor ined a tear,
in fecret brooding o'er her fear.
Ye vain furmifes, hence, away-
Let tranfport in my bolom play!
Caitalio comes--no terrors move-
For all is rapture, truth, and love!

REPLY.

YE geds, are all my terrors vain,
And do I view thee once again,
My fweet Euphrafia, lovely maid,
In all thy wonted charms array'd!
Again enraptur'd let me trace
Thy countenance' expreílive grace,
Where beam, depictur'd without art,
The gentle virtues of thy heart.

W. R.

"You know we have promifed to keep your commands,

And fo 'tis the duty of every good wife
To cherish her beauty, and lead a good life.
'Tis incumbent befides, from religion, upon her;
For we have religion, and you've only honour.
But if, in revenge, fince 'tis taken for granted
Who's robb'd is not robb'd, if the thing is not
wanted,

We do not, from vanity, try to reveal it, [it."
Like hufbands: O no!-we have fenfe to conceal
But, joking apart, I proceed with my letter,
To tell you of things more important and better.
You talk of your thunder and lightening
good luck!
[Crack
We can match you with things of that fort in
The news-writers tell us-and fomething there's

in't,

For thefe honeft fellows fay nothing in print
But what is as true as the gofpel-tranflation-
They tell us the lightening hath killed half the

nation.

I wish, when thus bufied in annihilation,
The lightening had ftruck at ý debt of y nation:
Or fing'd well the ears, in whatever high station,
Of those who produc'd, by mifreprefentation,
This horrible mill-itone, this caufe of vexation.
However, I trust, fpite of all perturbation,
Old England once more will denounce caftigation
To Spaniards and Frenchmen, to famous for
dancing,
[prancing.
And when they are faucy will fend them a
The croakers affure us, by Adams and Hancocks,
We're ruin'd-I fay, 'tis my
in a band-box.
Well, fo much for politicks-Now for the news:
Your friend the philofopher will not amule
Nor inftruct the good people of this ancient city
This funmer, he tells me, and more is the pity;
It cannot be helped, we fay, and then thrug we,
For he is engaged to read lectures at Rugby.
Young William, his pupil, a bright conftellation,
The pride of his heart, and the pride of the nation:
(Of

(Of talents fo fhining, is this the rewar!!)
. He hath fent bim to Coventry: is it not hard?
My friend Dr. L-
di cordially greet:

Pray tell him one Herfchel, ý first time you meet,
Hath found a new planet--a very good thing-
And taken poffeffion, in name of the King.
It is to be called the Georgium Sidus,
So we are confoled, whatever betide us.
For lofs of dominions we care not a fig or

A farthing, fince y we have found is much bigger.
This wonderful Herfchel will certainly foon
Difcover, in earneít, a man in the moon;
For, with his dioptricks, 'tis very well known,
Already he fpies in that planet a town.
He tells us, moreover, 'tis plain to be seen,
That& ftars are all jewels, red, yellow, blue, green.

If aught about phyfick the Doctor should ask,
You may fay, of phyficians fo eafy's the task,
That dropfics are cured without canule or cock,
And ev'ry thing elfe, by electrical fhock:
That Graham, whom Fame had reported was fled,
Hath return'd and re-made his celeitial bed:
That Baume, the chemist, is coming from France
To teach the Society Royal-to dance:

That Price, the great adept, tranfmuter of metals,
Makes filver and gold of old fauce-pans and kettles:
With fuch a brave chemift, how can we be poor?
So now we may fafely spend ten millions more.
A thoufand things elfe I intended to say,
But my paper is full, and the port will not stay,
So I kifs you, and with you a very good day.

SONG,

By the late DUKE of DORSET.

WAINS, I hate the boisterous fair,

SWA

Who bold atlume a manly air;

Soft, unaffected, gentle be,
Still the girl that's made for me.

Let her not boaft, like man, to dare
The dangers of the fylvan war;

With gentler fports delighted be
The girl that Fate ordains for me.
Nor pert coquette, nor formal prude,
Gay let her be, but never rude,

From airs, from flights, from vapours free;
She is the girl that's made for me.
Her well chofe drefs, in every part,
Be artful without fhewing art;

From all fantastic fashions free,
She is the girl that's made for me.
Loofe flow her locks, without constraint,
Her healthy cheeks iet Nature paint,
In all a goddefs feem to be,
But prove a woman itill to me.

}

My fheep, by their fhepherd forfook,
Lag, pent in their fold till mid-day,
Whilft I by the fide of a brook

Would complain the dull hours away.
Not all the gay flowers of the field,
Whofe fweetnefs perfum'd the soft air,
A joy to my fenfes could yield,
Unless the lov'd Phabe were there.

Alas! filly fwain, how I burn'd,

Sure paffion like mine ne'er appear'd; When abient, her abfence I mourn'd, When prefent, her abfence I fear'd. But now all this folly is o'er,

Since Phoebe to me has prov'd kind, I figh and I languish no more,

But contentment in every thing find Full joy in her prefence I have,

But her abfence now breaks not my reft; For with her dear perfon fhe gave

Me her heart, to lock up in my breast. Oh! how chearful my flocks now I guide,

At noon where to taite the fresh streams, Whilft I fing to the tune of Tweed Side, On the pleafanter banks of the Thames.

OCCASIONAL PROLOGUE to the FOUNDLING, acted at the Theatre-Royal in York, for the benefit of the LUNATIC ASYLUM. Written by Mr. KEMBLE.

FO'er Britain's ille tweet Pity calt her eyeROM the mild regions of her native sky,

She caft-and Sorrow heav'd her melting breaft, As to her view pale Sickness stood confeft.

Here treacherous Wafle attains her end by ftealth,

And, flatt'ring, flowly faps the base of health; There Fevers thoot thro' every fwelling vein, Now fire the lawless blood, now rack the brain. Daughter of Hell, a dirur fiend than War, With hafty ftride, Plague ruthes from afar! Her favage pleafare grows on fpreading death, And parent nations orphan'd by her breath.

Who fits on yonder ftone, with hollow eye And hand out-ftretch'd, imploring charity? 'Tis hungry Famine Thou thaltalk no more," Cry'd one but die, and fhame that rich man's door."

Who was 't fo cry'd?-The monarch of the dead,
As from yon grave he rear'd his meagre head,
Pity with fmiles beheid his friendly brow,
And hail'd him-curer of a curelefe woe.

She fpoke, and roaming Frenzy darted by,
Strength in his hand, and murder in his eye-
Sadly the figh'd, and as the turn'd away
Heard calmer Melancholy's penfive lay-
The love-lorn virgin, wandering thro' the gloom,
Of yew-bound church-yards and the mouldering
tomb,

Sung to the moon of “ Margret's grimly ghost," O: Henry's broken vows, and Emma loft.

Here Pity wept, and from her tears arofe A kind ASYLUM for the mad-one's woes. Hail to the wond'rous arts that can difpenfe The genial floods of renovated fente!

And blettings crown your breafts who feel thefe